


Pirates of the Caribbean One Shots

by Xoxo_Sadie21



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, let's get this bread!!!, pirates arrrrrr, yeehawwwww
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 23:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xoxo_Sadie21/pseuds/Xoxo_Sadie21





	1. Only Borrowed | Will Turner

You wonder if the waterfall truly knows how you feel in this moment. With its heavy downpour, its more likely than most. It’s free, refreshing.  _You_  feel free and refreshing. 

“I’m going to need the other one.” 

A voice that sends shivers down your spine brings you out of your short enthralling reverie. His back is to you, and he is hunched over only slightly, simply to tidy his boots. Perhaps he is patiently waiting for the other one to complete the pair. 

Your smile widens at the romantic thought. 

And perhaps, in this situation, you are the other half of him. Like one boot to the other, like the sun setting and making its place in the horizon. 

A sly grin dances innocently over your lips, and with precaution, you sneak up to him. The boot he  _needs_  is in your possession. You let out a breathy giggle, propping your boot-clad foot up on the rock he hovers over. From where you stand, you watch as his eyes— that are filled with constellations— dart away from his task and eagerly land on your bare thigh. With a childlike amazement, and a hunger you have encountered plenty of times since, he brushes his hands over your skin. You tense, but do not anticipate. 

His touch sets off a burning fire within your veins, and you hum with pleasure. The affectionate gesture tends to leave you breathless, and even more so when he comes around to plant his warm lips on the inner area of your thigh. His hands, that have defiantly stayed in their place, paw at your tender flesh. 

Your eyes flutter closed. 

He is absolutely treasuring you, from your skin, to your whole body and now— what seems to be impossible— your soul. You feel as if you are slowly rising to the heavens above. 

For what feels like hours later, his fingers begin to stroke, ascending upwards in to where he knows to be anything but innocent. You are almost purring at his touches, leaning and curling into him, needing to be close. So, so close. 

But then he stops, and then your eyes are open again. 

A beat of silence passes, and then as if a supernatural force burdens his eyes to connect with your own. That same force burdens you to cup his cheek, to ground him to his place because Lord knows he doesn’t have the power to keep himself rooted there. Your touch sends euphoric bursts of energy through him and he can’t help but let out a breath that prompts he is anything but sunstruck by your gaze, by your touch. 

He turns his head slowly to the side and presses a featherlight kiss to your palm. With what will power he can muster since most of it was at your mercy, he moves out of reach of your aura, your touch, your warmth, taking the boot on your foot with him. 

Your white undergarment flutters in the slight breeze from impact of how the water cascades down, down,  _down_ —

“You should get back, my love, before people start to get suspicious.” 

And then, just like that the downpour of the waterfall feels too heavy, and now too cold. It’s like icy tendrils pricking at your skin, prodding at you, taunting you until you finally give into this noxious feeling. 

You can see the light from his eyes fade away. Where once pervaded with lovelorn, yearning, a selfish desire to keep you all to himself, now all that’s left is pained affliction. 

He sheds his coat and with a natural instinct of protection, he drapes it over your shoulders to ween off the dampness that soaks into your skin. 

“Why so soon? They won’t know if I’ve gone away or not.” You try to protest with a facile tone, but you can still feel the shame crawling up your dry throat. A desperation tugs at your heartstrings, and you bring the coat closer around you, hoping to make this last. 

You do not want to leave him. Not when you have more time. 

“Will, look at me,” you plead, and he obliges instantly. He stares at you, doe-eyed and very much lovesick for you already. 

You step forward and interlace your fingers through his, creating a cage you never want to break free from. “Let’s stay a little while longer, yeah? We can just lay here and— and we can talk about our future like we used to as children, remember?” His head hangs low, “ _Please_. I don’t want to leave you.” 

“You’re to be Wed tomorrow evening,” he murmurs, voice sorrowfully quiet. “I cannot have you anymore.”

You want him to look at you more than anything you’ve ever wanted before. 

“Yet you still have my heart.” You whisper, brokenly, eyes welling up with tears of abandonment. 

“Yes,” he lifts his head, and you crumble at the sight of tears in his eyes, falling down his cheeks, his trembling chin. “But it would be far worse to not have you at all.” 

“You  _have_  me, William. You have me here and you have me now.” By this time, you have already resorted to begging him to stay, to let him keep you. 

You’d leave James for him despite still loving and caring for the fool, you’d leave James if it means you can still be with Will. It isn’t just as simple as that though, nothing ever is. See, despite loving and caring for William more than you do for James, you still have that human heart. That human fragile and sensitive heart that was merely just an organ, but your heart nonetheless. 

You  _cannot_  destroy James. 

Because the sad thing is… you love him too. 

“It’s not enough anymore!” He shouts, and you flinch. The action does not go unnoticed by him, and so he deflates at the realization that he has frightened you. 

You are trying everything you can to keep him close. When he tries to remove his interlocked fingers from around yours, you only squeeze tighter. Every time he tries to move away, you feel a piece of your heart shatter into tiny millions of pieces. And when he finally succeeds in tearing away from you, his heart begging his mind to  _think_ , you fall to your knees. 

You should know by now that his heart is not yours to keep. 

It was and will only ever be  _borrowed_. 


	2. Sheltered Behind Your Sword | Will Turner

Tranquility reigns over you in blankets of cold breezes. Some would say that you are the epitome of blithe, unbothered in the most traumatizing times. You do not shiver when the ocean’s salt water leaves minuscule droplets on your skin from how the ship rocks on the waves. Off in the distance and just ahead of you, you see sun beginning its journey to set beyond the horizon. Something inside of you aches, but still, you stand with callous thoughts. There’s certainly a reason to be anything but calm and grounded, although, you do not allow yourself that right to be easily affected by what is to come.

Unfortunately, the hollowness you cocooned so tediously inside of your soul has found a way to bring you back to reality and call upon the sensations you want to dissemble until you can no longer feel it or hear it. This feeling has been deemed  _abandonment_. 

The strings that connect to your heart tug harshly, taunting you, begging you to let some sort of afflicted emotion free. You don’t want to surrender to it. In fact, you are forcing the qualm to end your suffering with strained intentions.

How will you learn to live like this? You don’t think your brother can even cure this soreness in your chest. It’s so unbearably heavy in your arms, on your shoulders, leaving a human size hole right in the middle of you.

Suddenly, you feel your chest constrict and your mind overload with thoughts and voices; these thoughts and voices become clear and bright, and they light a fire within you— _it feels like acid_.

When the first tear slips free from the cage you held them in, you begin to wonder if this is what true anguish feels like. 

Leaning your forearms on the railing of  _The Flying Dutchmen_ , you begin to gasp, but your anxiety is almost inaudible. Your cries of despondency are no match for the roaring waters below you.  _Therefore_ , no one is able to hear your internal battle, your fight for control over this pathetic, heartrending friction that is bestowed upon you.

“You’re still here.”

You quickly hide any evidence of your sorrow and turn around to face the main source of your suffering. A pair of startling brown eyes have you locked and compelled— utterly at his mercy and he has yet to give you an order. 

“I couldn’t bare the thought of not getting to say farewell,” you vow with a nasally tone. Bile has risen into your throat, and soon, you fear that no matter what he says to you, you will shatter like a fragile mug. 

As his eyes dart behind you, you figure he is staring at the sky ahead. The sky you previously had despised, the sky and the sun, and suddenly you want to damn it all to Hell below. When he brings his attention back over to you, his expression falls, and though you aren’t familiar with all of his faces, you know now that he is conflicted.

“There isn’t much time before…” his words fall silent, and he takes in a quiet, desperate breath of air before walking over to lean over the railings beside you.

You follow his lead, turning back around and hesitantly wrapping your nimble, jewelry-clad fingers around the railing. It makes a clinging sound, but it could not be louder than your thundering heart. You pray for a moment, wishing that it will keep you afloat and not let you drown in your heartbreak.

“[Y/N]?” He asks, feebly.

“Yes?” You answer on instinct, as if to answer him instantly was your soul’s duty. Although you figure it’s unhealthy to be so bound to someone, you don’t doubt that your soul and his are meant to be one.

When you turn to look at him, you find that he had already been looking at you, but with reddening cheeks, he turns back to the open ocean. Your eyes are wide and wild, needing some sort of validation from him. Validation from what, you have no clue, but your heart demands it.

“Have you ever been in love?” To say the question takes you off-guard is an understatement, but somehow, the slight change in his voice puts you at ease. It’s warm and soft and  _inviting_ , and something inside of you shifts.

Just as your cheeks grow hot, and your body erupts with goosebumps, you look away, not wanting to be caught with the flustered expression he brought upon you.

“I do suppose I have.” You utter, gripping the railing, heart yearning to keep this conversation going.

In your peripheral, you become aware of how quickly his head snaps over to look at you, befuddled and shocked. He’s curious, that much you can tell.

“And— And what was it like?” He stumbles on his words, brows coming together, pleading to know  _more_ about the sap who had the pleasure of being able to hold your heart.

“I find that you would be able to educate me quite well on the manner, Mr. Turner.”

“William.” His breath leaves him in a dazed fashion, and you hold yours. “I told you to call me William.” 

You freeze because he has yet to notice the words that fled from your mouth, or just how much meaning behind them. 

Forthwith, your hands are gripping tighter onto the railing, and in this moment, it seems to be the only thing keeping you from falling or dropping to your knees. Your head is filled with blurry and chaotic thoughts, and as the seconds tick by, you know that you are only wasting borrowed time. You screw your eyes shut and bite down on your lower lip to prevent it from trembling visibly. 

“Why will you not look at me?” A warmth touches your hands, both of them, and you look down to witness his own calloused ones sliding gently over your knuckles. 

Your infatuation with the man has become messy, and before you could even dig yourself out, he had intentionally tripped you, knowing full well that he had no remorse on the intended act. 

As soon as his thumb brushes over your skin and end with interlacing his finger steadily through yours, you know in that moment that your fate is sealed, and there is no escaping this. He has you sheltered behind his sword and there is no breaking through. 

Your knees are weak, but you do not descend to the ship’s floor, and instead, you exhale deeply, along with the tempestuous waves. His touch sends your limbs into a paralytic balm, and slowly you feel as if your soul has gone up to touch the hands of Zeus himself. 

“Don’t leave.” The words are spoken before there is any time to take them back, and when you look over at him— hands very much still entwined with his— his face is merely five inches away from yours. You hold your breath, courtesy of the close proximity, and the lack of personal space the man provides you with. “I have grown  _too_  attached to you, and whenever we are miles apart it feels like—”

“Like you’re suffocating?” He finishes, brows knitted together with mild concern, although, you do not overlook the longing look he gives you. He lets go of your hands and reaches up with calculated movements to let his fingers graze over your cheek. He touches you like you are meant to be preserved, but you can see the conflict in his eyes— the overbearing emotions that flicker through them while he clenches his jaw so tight, you think it will break. “I feel it, too.” 

“Then  _stay_.” Your voice quavers and fresh tears sting the back of your eyes. 

“You know I can’t.” He steps away from you, the harshness of his words invading the space between you. 

He hates himself in this moment. 

And it’s the way he says it that truly gets to you, that really  _breaks_ you. “I was too late, wasn’t I? With all this time we’ve had, all the time I had to tell you how I feel— tell you just how much you’ve become the one person I cannot breathe properly without. I was— I was _too bloody late_.” With every tear-babbling word that falls from your lips, Will takes a step toward you, worry beyond belief filling him up, draining him of his durability and stripping him bare. You are his ultimate weakness through this, and admittedly, there was a part of him that would kill someone just to cut out  _their_ heart and put it in place of  _his_ , so he can have you. 

“I wish there were another way… darling.” He puts emphasis on the affectionate term for you, wanting to know how it feels to call you something so endearing. He’s never had the chance to do that before, and now he wishes to call you that every day for the rest of his life. 

But with the harsh reality, he knows that is entirely impossible. 

You will grow, and he will falter. 

“I’m so sorry,” he rushes forward, hands coming up to wipe away your tears with hasty fingers. He shakes, “Please—  _please_ , forgive me.”

You say nothing at first, only the sounds of your panic-struck sniffles fill his desperate ears. He is searching you, eyes darting back and forth with alarm, begging to capture your attention as your head hangs low with demise. 

“Oh, William,” you finally lift your head, and caress his cheeks with a delicacy that he deems his favorite touch of yours. You lean up carefully, and he can feel your hot breath fan his face. The proximity is all that seems to register in his mind, and just how much he can see on your face; your laughter-lines, some freckles here and there, the hypnotizing color of your irises. He falls even deeper in love with you within a matter of seconds, and it’s the smile that set his mind skyrocketing. “I will  _forever_ forgive you.” 

Just when he thinks he can’t fall even more, you close the gap between you. Your lips feel warm, and with every single millisecond, he can feel himself slipping into an alternate reality. His body feels so light, and warm when your hands move from his cheeks to run through his hair. He croons into yours mouth on impulse, and his body sings with exuberance when you slip your tongue into his mouth. 

Time is frozen  _still_. 

Bodies curve into one another, hands are roaming from hair to waist, to thighs, you are kissing with your entire weight, and desire takes over like a tsunami wrecking a city. The kiss grows heated and intense, and you can’t seem to think straight. Thoughts are jumbled, heart is racing— his lips are  _heaven_. 

But it seems that not even time can be prolonged. 

He pulls apart, eyes barely opening just in time to see the sun climbing over the surface of the horizon. Your lips follow his blindly, and you only open them when you notice that he is no longer kissing you. 

At his expression, you realize why. 

Great indisposition flows through his veins, but that doesn’t forestall him from pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. He pulls back before he has the chance to coerce himself to stay rooted next to you. 

“It’s time to go.” Before you can protest, he turns around and then when he faces you, he’s holding the chest that— quite frankly— stores his heart. With tired eyes, he hands it to you. “Will you keep it safe?” 

Your eyes dance across the chest with a crestfallen expression, letting your focus drift from him and the chest. “I always thought I could keep you safe from any harm that would come your way,” you murmur, dejected. “It only proved me wrong when I wasn’t near you.” 

You take the chest and hold it close. Dipping your head, you press your ear to the top of it, and listen to the steady sound of his heart beating; the sound of it puts you at ease, strangely, even though it fails to be connected inside of him. 

He says nothing, and only watches you with awe. 

“You damn well better come back to me, William Turner.” You stubbornly whisper, letting fresh tears form in your eyes, as he backs away from you further with a coy and charming grin. 

It’s getting even closer to the end of his borrowed time. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” He salutes you in a mocking manner and you snort loudly, the sound horrendous and unladylike. 

His eyes fall upon the chest once more, and then he looks back to you, all seriousness underlying his perfectly sculptured face. “It’s always belonged to you.” And his words are spoken with so much devotion, that it takes everything in you not to end the suffering sooner than later. 

With every step he does, you feel a little piece of you follow after him. 

You give him a last endearing smile, and blow him a decelerate kiss, which still— in times of finality— flusters him to the core, before reluctantly turning around. You instantly lay eyes on Gibbs, who stands near a lifeboat that will take you both back to the  _Black Pearl_ , and you back to your brother. 

Gibbs smiles sadly at you the entire time back to the ship, but you don’t notice because you are clutching onto the chest for dear life. Your knuckles are turning white, your breath is labored and rugged, and avowedly, your main goal was to shield yourself from breaking any further. You could do just that with a bottle of rum and your brother’s presence alone, but for now, all you can do is weep. 

You manage to reach the Black Pearl, and just as you suspected, your brother stands there with awaiting arms, not a trace of a smile anywhere on his face because he  _knows_. He knows how it feels to lose someone; he lost  _you_ once.

“He’s a good man, my love. He really loves you.” 

“Yeah.” You burrow your face into his chest after having set the chest on the floor momentarily. The tears are flooding, and there is nothing you can do to stop it, not even the soothing shapes your brother draws on your back. 

And when William disappears from your vicinity, you vow to never look out into the open seas without him by your side.

“Yeah,” you curl into him further. “Yeah, I know.” 


End file.
